


To Hell and Back

by AsLostAsAliceAsMadAsTheHatter



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: But not until the very very end, Dark Thoughts, Dimeshipping - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Ho boy is there angst, It’s obvious but ignored until it isn’t, References to Depression, Romance, eventually that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsLostAsAliceAsMadAsTheHatter/pseuds/AsLostAsAliceAsMadAsTheHatter
Summary: "They will not remember you. Don't take this personally, they don't remember themselves either. Don't touch them, not yet. Their eyes will seem far away. Don't worry, they're listening."





	To Hell and Back

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off a guide from a blog I follow, "HGK477", on Tumblr and Insta. The bolded thoughts are the darker voice inside Scrooge's head, the one he's usually strong enough to ignore, while the italics are his normal thoughts. Hope this helps clear up confusion before it can happen.
> 
> Also, there are a TON of comic references in this. Check out Monkey-Li's Dimeshipping Masterpost on Tumblr to find most of them.

She wasn’t supposed to die.

He knew that better than he knew how many coins were in his bin (10,423,827,651,265) but no one believed him. _ ‘She pushes you to save you, she knew what would happen’ _ , _ ‘Death wanted a soul, there’s nothing you could have done’ _ , and _ ‘She’d want you to keep living’ _were only some of the things his family had said in attempts at comforting him. 

They did the opposite.

Guilt ate at him constantly, along with misery and regret. She wasn’t supposed to die, she wasn’t supposed to die, shewasn’tsupposedtodie _ shewasn’tsupposedtodie _!

...It should have been him.

________

Since Magica’s death Scrooge had been inconsolable. It had been months and he had yet to accept it, instead spending his days in a haze, becoming obsessed with the idea of bringing her back. His family was worried; nothing they did or said seemed to reach him. The only adventures he went on were for artifacts that could potentially aid him, and he was spending insane amounts of money following any scrap of information he could get. They all agreed that what had happened to the witch was devastating, unquestionably a tragedy, but no mortal or god could raise the dead.

They didn’t want to, but they feared they’d have to lock him away if he continued on as he was. They’d agreed to give him until the first anniversary of her passing, hoping beyond hope he’d give up his useless quest. Therefore, knowing how deep his obsession ran, it shouldn’t have come as a shock when one day Scrooge vanished.

But it did, and try as they might, they couldn’t find him.

________

Scrooge knew what his family thought of his mission, and he also knew they thought he was insane. Maybe he was, just a tad, but then seeing the love of your life burn to death in front of your eyes would do that. (**And there it is, Scrooge, see her writhe in agony? Hear her screams? All because you underestimated a ** ** _demon. _ ** **It’s your fault. It should have been you**). He also knew they planned to send him to an asylum, and he couldn’t have that, so he ran. Ran to the one place he knew no one would look.

Magica’s cottage.

Everyone assumed it would be too painful for him to set foot there, and it was, oh god it was painful, but it was his last hope. He was running out of leads and money and he hoped the one place he had yet to check might have the answer he sought. She was renowned for having at least one spellbook for every type of magic ever created. He desperately hoped one could tell him how to bring her back. (_ Don’t give up, can’t give up, please god let there be a way _). 

The cottage was dusty as expected after nearly a year of disuse, but he almost collapsed all the same. Everything was just as she’d left it that last morning. Spellbooks strewn everywhere opened to various pages, a chair partially pulled back from the table, dirty dishes in the sink. He bet if he checked her room, he’d find a similar state of disarray, the bed unmade to boot. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look, not yet. (**Because it’s your fault, your fault, ** ** _yourfault _ ** **that she’s dead**). 

Instead he set about cleaning, whisking the dust and cobwebs away as tears glistened in his eyes. It wasn’t until he’d gotten the main room clean and slumped on the couch that he let them fall.

After the initial accident he’d been able to push the depression to the back of his mind and ignore it, focus on bringing her back, but here, surrounded by all her things, in her home, it burst forth. Despair buzzed across and consumed his mind, and all he could do was sob. (**Weak weak ** ** _weak_ **).

_______

“How to bring someone back from the dead,” Scrooge read aloud, voice rusty from disuse. 

It had taken days after initially moving in to become semi-functional again, and weeks upon weeks to stumble across the passage he now held. In that time he’d poured over the majority of her spellbooks, scanning every minute detail for hints of what he was looking for. Finally, after a year of trying, it seemed he’d found his answer. 

“It’s about time,” he murmured, settling into the couch to read. (And no, hadn’t been about to give up. _ Yes he had _).

**…..**

The secret to cheating death, it turned out, was quite simple. Scrooge couldn’t decide if he should be thankful for that or chuck the book out the door. Eventually, he chose the former. Really it seemed to be a list of steps outlining an adventure to literal Hell, and he couldn’t help but think of the old Greek myths as he read the guide over and over, committing it to memory. (**You should have found it sooner, you should have been better**).

Some instructions stuck out to him, warnings and the like, some of them piercing his already wounded heart. _ ‘They will not remember you. Don’t take this personally. They don’t remember themselves either’ _ . _ ‘Don’t touch them, not yet’ _ . _ ‘Try not to cry when they smile’ _ . What kind of existence was she experiencing? ( **One of your own making, the one you should be in, not her**).

He shook his head to clear it. Best not to venture down that path, else he’d waste valuable time moping in bed. (He’d begun sleeping in the bedroom recently, needing that tether as he continued his search. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally cry himself to sleep).

Scrooge cracked a smile for the first time in over a year, muscles aching as though they’d forgotten the expression, and perhaps they had. It wasn’t a happy expression, tinged with self-loathing and sadness, but it was a start. Best get to work, there was several things he needed.

________

Scrooge didn’t leave the cottage until late May, as per the instructions, nearly three months after finding the guide. As he waited on his car to show (he had paid quite a bit for the car, and nearly double for secrecy) he double checked his travel pack. The food and water were nestled in the bottom, two coats and a blanket on top, with his flashlight, batteries, and the white rose closest to the top. Inside his coat pocket he carried a quarter, and around his neck his number one dime. The book had said he’d need an object of importance to the deceased (_ not much longer you’ll have her back soon _) and he couldn’t think of anything more fitting.

Nearly a day’s travel later found him at the edge of the Hoia-Baciu Forest in Romania. It was reported to be one of the most haunted forests in the world, the site of numerous supernatural happenings, and large to boot. It was perfect. The guide he’d hired had refused to enter the forest itself for those exact reasons, which suited him just fine. He’d finish this as he started, utterly alone. (**You wouldn’t be doing this if you had been paying attention in the first place**). 

Scrooge walked through the day as told, only stopping when he could no longer see. He turned to his left, and as promised there was a white glow. He moved toward it. _ ‘Remember your loved one’s name’ _ . As if he could forget. She consumed his every waking thought, and most of his dreams. ( _ Soon soon soon _ ). _ ‘Say aloud how much you missed them and why you want them back’ _.

“I miss her more than I ken put inta words. I miss her enough that I’d trade mah life for hers. I want her back because…” Here he had to pause as he was about to say aloud things he’d never spoken before. “Because I love her. And I never got the chance ta tell her. We never got the chance ta live.” 

(**And whose fault is that? Stubborn, prideful old miser**).

The light seemed to pulse brighter, and before he knew it he’d reached it. It faded away shortly after, leaving its essence etched on his retinas and plunging him into darkness. He dropped his pack, pulling out his flashlight and flicking it on before settling himself on the ground. _ ‘Do not be afraid. If you’ve made it this far, then the forest is on your side. It will not let you be harmed’ _. A comforting thought really, since some of the sounds coming from around him were definitely not those of normal forest creatures. Yawning, he lay down for the night, content that he was so close to his goal.

_______

Scrooge woke when the sun was already high in the sky, though not much of it managed to penetrate the thick canopy of branches and leaves above him. Stretching, and wincing as his back protested, he grabbed the flashlight and turned it off, placing it back in his bag. A few feet away, highlighted in a halo of sun, was a fairy ring. He approached, stopping just before entering. His stomach growled then, reminding him of the next step. He dug into the bag, pulling out all his rations and laying them on the ground.

He chose only a simple energy bar, drinking half a bottle of water with it, before pushing the rest to the side. He’d need it later. He stepped into the fairy ring, shivering as he felt the magic rush over him. (And oh god it’s so familiar, so like when she’d hex him or potion him and his heart_ aches _). The quarter in his pocket seemed to burn, and he fumbled to remove it, placing it on the ground tails up. The guide hadn’t specified why this was necessary, though if he had to guess he was probably paying a toll, as the departed in the myths did to cross the River Styx. (All magic has a price).

“I’m coming for you,” he said, voice raw from pent up emotion as he watched the coin sink into the ground.

He tugged out a coat from the pack, slipping it on before shouldering the bag once more. He was ready. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself sinking through the earth as the coin had. It took simultaneously no time at all and forever, but soon smoke billowed around him and he opened his eyes. A yawning tunnel stretched before him, pitch black, prompting him to reach back and fish for his flashlight, taking care to change the batteries before he began walking. 

Unlike most beliefs and stories, Hell was not fire and heat and brimstone. It was dark and unbelievably cold. Scrooge shivered as he walked, pushing onward despite the chill penetrating his coat and invading his bones. He hadn’t come so far just to quit. (_ Not now, not when you’re so close you can almost feel her in your arms _). 

A small house soon fell within the beam from his flashlight, and even if the guide hadn’t explicitly stated to knock he probably would have anyway, the soft glow of the windows calling to him. A woman answered the door, her dark hair reminding him of Magica. Her eyes were odd just as stated, slate gray, double pupiled and an iris made of stars, quite pretty really. He quickly relocated his gaze to her mouth, reminding himself not to stare. (**Don’t screw up again, you idiot**).

“Hello, traveler. My name is Elesebeth. Perchance do you have something pretty for me to distract from this weary landscape?” she questioned.

“Aye, I do,” he answered, shrugging off his bag to retrieve the rose.

He extended it to her, nerves causing his heart to thump rapidly. If the guide was outdated and she didn’t accept the flower he wasn’t sure what he’d do. (_ Please please please _). To his relief, she took it with a smile. 

“Would you care to come inside and rest?”

He stepped through the doorway, relieved the interior was warmer than the tunnel. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, but the sound of his stomach growling surprised him, so he supposed it had been a while. Time had no meaning to the dead after all, and so didn’t exist there.

“Can I offer you something to eat?” Elesebeth asked, obviously having also heard his stomach. “I have almost anything you could want.”

Scrooge was no fool, he knew if he ate anything she offered he’d be stuck permanently.

“No thank ye, I would nae want ta trouble ye,” he responded with ease. “But if ye dinnae mind company I would appreciate it if I could rest for a bit.”

They talked for what seemed like hours, discussing anything and everything. He told her of Magica, though was careful not to say her name, as those held power. In return she spoke of others like him who had ventured forth into the Underworld; not all had succeeded.

“You know,” she said after a while, “there really is no point to life.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Just that. When you die you come here and spend eternity wandering the mist with no recollection of who you were. There’s no punishment for a life of wickedness just as there is no reward for a life of goodness. So truly, nothing you accomplish in life matters, thus life doesn’t matter.”

Scrooge tried not to let that bother him. (Because that would mean all his riches, his treasures, were worthless, which in turn meant Magica had died for nothing).

_______

She had given him a key. It was an old, intricately designed thing, made of brass if he was right with his guess. He’d found himself gripping it tightly as he continued his trek down the tunnel, thumb tracing the swirls and spirals of the handle. He didn’t know why she’d given him a key, only that it was important.

Exhaustion weighed on him but he kept going, determined not to rest until Magica was safely above ground once more. (**You don’t deserve it anyway**). At some point his pack grew heavier, and when he checked he found an assortment of fruit, smoked meat, nuts and wine. He simply shouldered it once more. He’d rather starve than condemn himself to Hell. Truthfully, he wanted to chuck every single piece of it into the darkness, but didn’t want to risk angering anything that might prevent him from leaving. (Who knew what lurked in the darkness)?

Finally the sound of rushing water met his ears and he picked up his pace, a burst of energy coursing through him at the realization he was on the last leg of his journey. Elesebeth waited by the river just as he’d expected she’d be, and he approached her with a smile.

“Hello, Elesebeth. Here’s the key ye gave me, remember?”

“Ah yes, the key to the Underworld. And here is your flower.”

They traded items, and he once again stored the flower in his bag. A boat had appeared from thin air, though with everything he’d experienced in his life it didn’t bother him too much. Elesebeth motioned him toward it and he boarded carefully, not at all surprised when it began moving on its own. Thick fog soon obscured his vision and he was thankful for it, because the sounds coming from all around him were not something that were even remotely close to mortal. He did not want to match a creature to such sounds. (**This should be your reality**).

A soft thump was the only indication he had that he’d reached the opposite shore, as he still couldn’t see. He clamored out, taking a deep breath and beginning to walk yet again. Souls began to manifest in the fog, which at the same time started to thin, and he knew he was getting close. They didn’t seem to notice him, stares vacant and empty. It was unnerving how silent it was in the midst of so many people, so he began to hum, ‘_ Black is the Color of my True Love’s Hair _’. It seemed appropriate.

_______

Scrooge didn’t think he’d ever find her. He’d lost track of all the directions he’d turned in search of her. Just when he was ready to scream, he saw her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, though she had the air of misery as everyone he’d passed. For the first time in over a year his mind calmed, swirling thoughts silencing, save for the one thread that kept him focused on his task. 

It took all his self control not to shout her name and run to her, but he managed. Instead he approached slowly, fighting back tears.

“Hello,” he whispered when he was near enough.

“In the deafening silence his voice sounded like a thunderclap. Her eyes met his briefly, though they showed no spark of recognition. His heart ached, and it became harder to control his emotions. ‘_ They will not remember you. Don’t take this personally _’. He didn’t, he just hurt.

His hands shook from the effort he exerted to keep from touching her. (_ He just wanted to hold her, brush her hair back and kiss the sadness from her eyes _). He began talking, telling her of the year she’d been gone. The look in her eyes didn’t change, he’d stopped for a moment, trying to think of something else to talk about, when she spoke up.

“You’re alive, aren’t you? What is it like there, with the living? Is there light? Sound?”

Smiling a brittle smile, he began to answer her questions, telling her about all the things she used to love, all the things she’d hated, and everything in between. Only then did some of the emptiness leave her gaze.

“Are you cold?” he asked softly once he’d finished.

“Yes,” she answered, and he’d expected nothing less.

“If ye’d like ye can borrow mah coat,” he said, already slipping off his pack and starting to unzip it. “It should help.”

Magica nodded hesitantly, and he quickly slipped it off and handed it over. He shivered violently in the cold, scrambling for the second coat while she tugged on the other. He looked up to find her staring at him. 

“Do...do you know me?” she asked, hope in her tone.

“Yes,” Scrooge said with a smile. He then uttered the name he hadn’t spoken in almost eighteen months. “Yer name is Magica, Magica De Spell.” The smile she gave him was absolutely blinding, and he felt his throat tighten as tears welled up. Without looking away he slipped the dime from around his neck. “I brought this for ye.” She took it, the old coin seeming to spark as she touched it. “Mah name is Scrooge McDuck, and if ye want to, I can help ye leave.”

“Y-you can?”

“Yes, but only if ye want to.”

“I do, I want to leave.”

He smiled then, the first with nothing but happiness, and extended his hand.

“Well then, allow me ta escort ye.”

She clasped his hand, and he fought a cringe at how icy her touch was, how stiff her fingers felt. (The dark voice tried to rear up; he fought it down, sole focus on her). He began guiding her in what he hoped was the correct direction. The fog seemed to part around them, the walk passing twice as quickly as when he’d been searching, almost as though something was trying to force them out. Perhaps there was.

Soon enough the river came within sight, and with it Elesebeth for the third time. It was rather hard to find the damn rose for the second time one handed, but he wasn’t about to release Magica’s hand.

“A sign of thanks for all yer trouble,” Scrooge said, handing it to her for the last time.

“A momento of your journey,” she replied, handing him the key once more.

He helped Magica into the boat, making sure she didn’t trip or fall. He settled beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. The boat once more ferried then across under its own power. Magica curled against him as the ungodly sounds began again, and he held her tighter. Nothing was going to hurt her again, not ever. They’d have to kill him first.

The boat bumped the shore sooner than he expected, but he had a feeling the next part of the journey wouldn’t be so quick. He helped Magica out of the boat as he’d helped her in, before securely gripping her hand. The guide had warned she’d have trouble keeping up and he wasn’t about to lose her now. He had no idea what would happen should they be separated, but something told him it wouldn’t be pleasant. Anxiety settled in his gut like a stone ball as they began walking. After all, they still had to get out, and any number of things could go wrong before then.

________

Scrooge talked to her as they walked, beginning with the day they’d first met and telling her of every encounter afterward. The only day he left out was their last. (Fire, screaming, a shove, demonic laughter, higher pitched screaming, the smell, a body). Not only was it too painful to speak of, he didn’t want to tell her how and why she’d died. Several times her steps faltered and he found himself practically dragging her along, and his heart ached further with the knowledge that the only way to help her was to continue on. Occasionally she’d ask a question about one of the stories, but as they continued they came less and less until she fell silent entirely. 

He had no idea how long they’d been walking or how far they still had to go when Magica stumbled hard, nearly falling. He steadied her, frowning in concern, before starting to walk once more. He noticed he really was tugging her along now, and squeezed her hand in reassurance. They made a little more headway before he felt her stumble yet again, and then she was falling, her hand ripping from his grasp. He stumbled too at the sudden loss before turning back to face her.

Magica sat on her knees, head bowed, shoulders shaking silently. As he knelt beside her he heard soft sobbing, and though the guide had warned him this would happen at some point, he still felt his heart break as she cried. (_ Please don’t cry, my love _). He lifted her head up gently, hand under her beak, and gave her a watery smile that he hoped would provide some comfort. Her eyes met his and dear gods she looked so exhausted, so ready to give up. He felt his heart break further.

“Hey, hey, donnae cry. It’ll be alright, we’re almost there, and then ye can rest as long as ye need. Shh, I’ve got ye, darlin’,” he said, swiping his thumbs across her cheeks to dry her tears.

He’d be damned if she gave up now, not when they were so close. (Not when it was so unlike her).

“You do?” Magica asked with a sniff.

“Aye, now and forever, and I will nae let anythin’ hurt ye ever again.”

She fell forward with a weak sob, and he caught her, wrapping her securely in his arms. She nestled against him, one hand gripping the front of his coat and her face against his neck. Her stroked her hair and back, rocking them back and forth as she calmed. He tried to ignore how light she was, as though he were embracing air.

Once she’d calmed down, looking somehow more worn than before, he helped her stand, catching her as her knees buckled. The crying had taken what was left of her strength. There was only one thing to do. He scooped her into his arms effortlessly, arranging her bridal style and setting off yet again. It was then he realized he couldn’t feel her breathing, and his stomach churned. Soon, he reminded himself, soon.

He began talking again to distract himself from her lack of respiration, this time telling her of all the adventures he’d had in his life. She didn’t respond, but he knew she was listening. 

And so they walked, his voice the only sound in the unearthly silence. The path stretched on, seemingly forever, but still Scrooge walked, determination overpowering his own exhaustion. Each step felt as though he was moving through thick mud, each lift of his leg as though he had cinder blocks for feet, yet he continued. Through it all he talked, keeping his voice gentle but energetic, not wanting Magica to realize how tired he was.

The sight of Elesebeth’s house came as a shock, one large enough that his sentence abruptly cut off. He felt Magica’s curious gaze, and looked down at her with a bright smile.

“We’re almost there. See that little house? Not much longer now.”

A cold chill ran down his spine after he finished his sentence. It felt like they were being watched, and the state was distinctly evil, perhaps even demonic. He knew better than to turn around. (_ No more demons, no more, never again _). Instead, he pondered how similar their situation was to that of Orpheus and Eurydice, except that she wasn’t forced to follow behind him. Magica smiled at him, and momentarily he forgot about the unsettling gaze resting on them. He picked up his pace, eager to leave.

He waited until the house had faded into the distance behind him (or so he assumed, he didn’t dare turn around, not while he still felt eyes on his back) before stopping, letting Magica slip out of his arms to stand. Something told him the entrance was very close. He dug in his pack for the blanket, once more ignoring the food, though it was harder now. He shook it out before wrapping her in it, and couldn’t help but smile as she snuggled into the soft fabric. (_ God, how he’d missed her _). He picked her back up, starting on the last leg of the journey home.

He realized he had stopped talking. The silence now felt dangerous and suffocating, the eyes at his back more ominous, and fear began to curl in his chest. He began humming ‘_ Black is the Color of my True Love’s Hair _’, just as he had earlier. Magica sagged further against him, giving a hum of her own in approval. (He made a note to sing it to her one day, after the whole mess was over).

A light appeared ahead as he began his fourth repetition of the song, only a tiny pinprick, but his heart leapt for joy. The anxiety and fear began to fade, replaced with sheer relief. They had made it.

Scrooge began to run, tightening his grip on Magica so he wouldn’t drop her.

“Finally! We made it!” he half laughed, half yelled.

The light grew larger as they got closer. Adrenaline fueled his steps, sending him forward faster than he’d believed himself able. Closer and closer, brighter and brighter until…

Sunlight blinded him, Magica hiding her face against his neck as the bright rays washed over them. He looked around, realizing they were back in the fairy ring in the Hoia-Baciu Forest. He also realized Magica was no longer weightless. She had her body back. 

He hurriedly set her down outside the ring, quickly stepping out himself. She still wasn’t breathing.

“Magica,” he called, and she blinked at him. “Ye need to breathe, in and out, like this.” 

He took a deep breath, exaggerating his actions so she could see and copy. She tried, frowning when she couldn’t grasp it. He simply pulled her to sit against his chest, her back to his front, and began breathing slowly, encouraging her to follow. She relaxed against him, his arms wrapped around her waist, and just took in the motion for a moment.

Scrooge felt the moment she took her first breath and squeezed her waist, tears pricking his eyes. (_ She was back, she was real, she was going to be okay _). He supposed the old adage “the breath of life” was literal, as with her breathing her other needs presented themselves. She yawned, hard, at the same time her stomach growled. He felt her start to sag against him, falling asleep, and shook her, much to her irritation if the sleepy yet angry glare she threw him was any indication. 

“Ye need ta eat first, darlin’,” he said, releasing her to retrieve the food he’d left.

He kept a small portion for himself, giving the rest to her, and watched as she devoured her first meal in over a year. The shivering started as they finished eating, wracking her whole body and causing her teeth to chatter. The last physical effect of death. He’d long since stripped off his own coat, and gave it to her to layer atop the one she already wore. As she wrapped herself in it he began searching for firewood, keeping her within his sight. The sun was starting to set, and night would bring cooler temperatures.

He was able to gather enough wood to build a small fire, just barely able to keep her from crawling into it. As the last rays of light faded he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He settled himself on the ground facing the fire and opened his arms. She crawled into them without a second thought. Gently, he tugged the blanket from around her, rearranging it so that they were both covered. Her breath stirred the delicate feathers on his chest that were exposed outside his usual jacket, and her weight pressed against him. She bummed in contentment, though she still trembled.

Holding her, truly holding her, was like a dream come true. It was definitely a balm to his soul, and gave him the strength he needed to block out the judgmental condemning voice that had been haunting him. For the first time he began to feel like his old self again.

“Goodnight, Magica,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before he could stop himself.

She was asleep in seconds, and he soon followed, thanking the gods he was able to rescue her before allowing his eyes to close.

_______

Soft sunlight woke him, much as it had the day he’d ventured into Hell. He tightened his arms automatically to make sure she was actually with him, sighing in relief when he felt her soft curves. (_ She’s real she’s real she’s real _ ). She still slept soundly, and he didn’t dare to wake her. Instead he committed her face to memory, finally allowing tears to escape, though this time they were borne of happiness. ( _ You did it, you saved her, you made it right _). 

**…..**

Magica ended up sleeping for two days, not stirring until early afternoon on the third. Scrooge was busy roasting a few nuts and berries he’d found to be edible, though he nearly dropped them into the flames as she began to move. She sat up and looked around, confused until she spotted him.

“There ya are,” he said with a soft smile. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered.

She stretched and stood, removing both costs and leaving her in her usual dress. He offered her a portion of the food, which she accepted. They ate in silence, though he noticed she kept glancing his way.

“Something on yer mind, lass?” he finally asked.

“I...I feel like I know you somehow. But I can’t remember, everything is all fuzzy,” she confessed.

He smiled again, though it was fragile. (_ She’ll remember soon, she has to _).

“Ah well, ye do know me, quite well in fact. I’m sure yer memories will come to ya soon.” She seemed to accept his answer, relaxing once more. “Now then, I think we can make it out of here by nightfall if we get moving soon.”

“And go where?”

“There’s a little hut about a day’s travel away that I stay in. We’ll go there and get ye settled, see if yer memory comes back.”

He knew it would, of course, the guide had said so. He just didn’t know how long it would take. He helped her up, making sure to put out the fire, before grabbing the flashlight from the pack, just in case, and taking her hand once more. The rest of the items he left behind. He didn’t need reminders of his time in the Underworld. Magica didn’t question him, seemingly as ready as he was to leave it behind.

_______

It had actually taken two days to arrive in Naples, as he’d agreed to stop off and rest for the night. He couldn’t afford another non-stop private journey. Not that he was complaining, Magica was very affectionate at the moment, and allowed him all the cuddles he wanted. He fought back the guilt that came with that.

Magica showed no signs of regaining her memories, and Scrooge was torn about that. He wanted her back completely of course, but he was scared things would go back to how they were, and he couldn’t bear it. He loved her, but what if she didn’t love him? (Were the cuddles and hand holding just who she was at the moment or an indicator of forgotten feelings)? He’d know soon enough he supposed, because he planned to tell her how he felt once she remembered. 

What Scrooge didn’t know, was that Magica _ did _ remember—sort of. Her memories had begun to return those days she slept in the forest and were only solidifying from there. They were hazy at first, snippets here and there, but returning with increasing frequency. She could remember her entire childhood and young adult life, even some adventures with Scrooge, but not everything. And she didn’t want to bring it up until she knew exactly how she felt about him. She could recall an intense loathing and jealousy, but also admiration, respect, and love. She had no idea what that meant or in which order they were supposed to fall, so she said nothing, though she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy his unconscious touches and cuddles. God, she lived for the cuddles. 

It seemed to fill a void she didn’t know she had, all while making her feel safe and loved. It was why she allowed him to continue to share a bed with her (confusion be damned, he was warm and oh so sweet). That, and he had proven to be nothing if not a gentleman.

She beamed as they stepped into the (her) cottage, and more memories flooded her mind. She was surprised at how neat and organized everything was, as she usually kept things wherever she happened to toss or stack them. She’d have to thank him once everything returned to her. He busied around dusting and talking about this and that, obviously nervous. She thought it was cute. 

Scrooge was very glad that Magica didn’t remember anything at the moment, otherwise he’d have several uncomfortable questions to answer, the main one being why he was there in the first place. He busied himself clearing the thin layer of dust that had accumulated in the time he’d been gone (two and a half weeks, meaning he’d spent over a week in Hell) and jabbering on about this and that, barely able to look at her. He noticed she was looking around the cottage, occasionally brushed a book or knick knack with her fingers. Perhaps soon she’d begin to remember.

________

He’d ended up taking her out to dinner in town that night, citing that he couldn’t cook as an excuse. He’d found a pleasant (and cheap) little bistro that overlooked the ocean, resembling the one they’d eaten at once upon a time what felt like a lifetime ago. Magica has worn a beautiful black dress, the front and back low cut and covered in thin lace, and it was all he could do not to let his eyes wander. (When she’d asked why he had such a thing in his possession, as well as other women’s clothing, he’d told her the original owner of the cottage had left it behind. Not entirely a lie). She seemed amused at his struggle, so like her old self that for a moment he questioned if she was toying with him, but no it couldn’t be, she’d shown no indication she recalled anything. She asked him about himself, and he told her, even letting slip things he’d never told anyone else. He’d missed that, their connection and easy conversation. 

After dinner they walked along the shore, moon glinting off the water and lighting her in a soft glow, and it was so similar to a certain island it hurt.

“Thank you for taking me out,” Magica said after they’d stopped to rest, sitting side by side.

“Yer very welcome, it was mah pleasure.”

He only wished it could be considered a real date. She blushed, a shy smile on her face. These feelings he brought up in her were growing stronger, especially the positive ones. She was still unsure of a lot, but she was fairly certain she was in love with him, memories or no.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

Anythin’. I’ll listen as long as ye need me to.”

“I still can’t remember who or what you are to me.” Her eyes crinkled in frustration, a frown marring her face. “But despite that, I know I care for you.”

Scrooge tensed. This conversation was getting uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He cut her off before she could go any further. It just wasn’t right to do this while she was still unable to recall who he was, what they were to each other.

“Magica, please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe this is a conversation for later, after ye know everythin’.” He kept his eyes averted, kept telling himself it was the right thing to do. It felt too much like he was taking advantage of her like this. “I’m not rejecting ye, but I donnae want ye to regret anythin’ later either.”

‘_ Which is a strong possibility _’, he thought. Who knew how she usually felt about him? Magica, who had initially been hurt at his words, smiled. He truly was a gentleman. More memories clicked into place, and she began to understand her feelings concerning him.

“You’re too kind,” she said, reaching for his hand to entwine their fingers. “But I’m afraid I must be a little cruel, I can’t help myself.” She leaned closer, his startled gaze flying to her face, only to be stunned by the desire in her eyes. Gods above she was trying to kill him! “Kiss me? Please, I don’t know exactly why but I know I won’t regret it.”

Of that she was absolutely certain.

This was too much. Here she was, looking like a goddess in the moonlight, almost saying she loved him, and begging him to kiss her? How could he refuse? But he knew he had to, even if it nearly killed him.

“At any other time, I would nae hesitate, but I fear ye might still regret it later, no matter what ye say.” He smiled sadly, squeezing her hand in apology. “Let’s head home. It’s getting late, and I donnae want ye ta catch a chill.”

It _ was _growing cooler as the night stretched on, especially by the water, so she allowed him to help her up. Her disappointment must have shown on her face because he wrapped her in his arms once she was standing, propping his bill on her shoulder.

“Yer so beautiful, Magica. I wish ye could recall our history,” he whispered before pulling away.

So did she. He wrapped an arm around her waist as they began walking home, both remaining silent. Magica sulked the whole way, frustrated both at herself and him. If only she could remember! However, that did not stop her from snuggling close as they went to bed, eager for any affection he would give. She was fairly certain if she didn’t get the rest of her memories back soon she’d go insane.

_______

The morning came peacefully as it usually did, Scrooge waking first. He gazed at the woman in his arms. It was getting harder and harder not to confess everything to her, to finally kiss her if she’d allow it. (Although based on the night before she definitely would). He sighed, stroking her back gently. He’d have to be content for the moment. As he lay there he began to try and plan out the day, occasionally stroking down her back or through her hair. He was so lost in thought, he missed the moment she woke up.

Magica blinked her eyes open, allowing them to flutter closed once again so she could enjoy the petting she was getting and the warmth of the bed when she realized. She remembered, she remembered everything! All their fights, their talks, the island, everything! Even how she’d pushed him…Her heart sped up as she remembered the reason why; she loved him! And perhaps, if his recent behavior was any indication, he loved her too.

Scrooge came back to himself as he felt Magica’s pulse begin to race under his palm. Concerned, he turned his head to look at her, afraid she may be having a nightmare. His eyes widened when he realized she was awake, and her eyes…For the first time they held no confusion, no slight haze, only clarity and a hint of fear.

“I remember,” she whispered.

He let go of her immediately as though he’d been burned, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. Surely now she’d curse him, scream at him, tell him she hated him. Magica frowned as he pulled away, immediately missing the contact.

“I’ll just, um,” he stammered, attempting to get up, but her hand closed around his wrist, stilling him. 

“Don’t. Not after everything that’s happened.”

She wasn’t about to let him go, not now that she knew what she wanted. He lay back reluctantly, afraid of the conversation but aware it was necessary. He sighed, eyes falling closed. If she was going to reject him it was best to get it over with quickly. 

“What exactly do ye remember?” he asked.

“The fight with that demon, pushing you, and then the past week. But there’s a gap. Why?”

He thought fast.

“The demon captured ye and took ye ta the Underworld. I suppose he wiped yer memories before controlling ye with a spell or some such thing.”

He felt bad for lying to her, but he wasn’t about to tell her she’d been dead. Magica frowned. That didn’t seem right but she couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe because she’d dove into a plume of flames?

As he thought of that day yet again (would he ever be able to forget?) he decided he had to know. Know why she’d pushed him, _ died _ for him. Now was as good a time as any, while they were having this conversation.

“Magica?” he called, catching her attention. “Why did ye push me anyway?”

Well now, wasn’t this a question she didn’t want to answer. But then she thought of the night before, how he’d held her every night, and recalled the soft looks they’d shared even before that last fight, and decided it was time to tell him. 

“Why else, you old miser?” Her eyes darted away, finding the quilt. “Because I love you! I couldn’t just watch you die!”

The image of her burning alive came unbidden, as did her screams (_ again _) and he flinched unconsciously. Of course she noticed and let go of him, pulling away to wrap her arms around herself. 

“I see. Is it so awful for me to feel this way? So disgusting? And to think I thought you felt the same.” 

She laughed bitterly. Scrooge realized then what had happened, and knew if he wanted to rectify the situation he’d have to tell her about his guilt as well as his feelings. Now was not the time for a misunderstanding.

“Magica, please listen ta me. I only reacted that way because, well, while ya were gone I never stopped tryin’ ta find ye.” He focused on her weight and warmth, eyes softening as he gazed at her. She had yet to look at him, so he gently lifted her bill to face him, and grasped her hand. “I felt so guilty the entire time, and so lost. I missed ye so much I couldnae do anythin’ but try to find ye.” Her eyes widened. “So please donnae think I donnae want ye.”

She’d stopped listening after he said he felt guilty. How could he? _ She _had decided to push him, to put herself in harm's way. Why did he feel guilty? Because it had taken so long to find her? He had obviously given it his all.

“Why?” she asked, eyes wide. “Why did you feel that way? I chose to push you, I knew what could happen, and you found me eventually.”

“But if I’d been paying more attention—”

“He has just knocked us apart, you were dazed, so was I, but I had the good fortune to land facing him.”

“But he still pushed me. Ye dinnae have to.”

He looked away, sadness practically dripping off him, and Magica sighed, running her hand through his whiskers to make him look at her. She smiled softly, squeezing his hand as he did to her.

“I pushed you because _ I love you _, you old fool. Could you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same had the situation been reversed?” He stayed silent. “You see? So there’s no reason to feel so guilty.”

He smiled weakly. It would take time, but maybe eventually he’d be able to believe her. He kissed the back of her hand in thanks, smile brightening as she blushed.

“I love ye, ye crazy witch,” he said tenderly. “Even if ye do have an extravagant way of showing it.”

“You saved me too, I think we’re even,” Magica deadpanned.

He laughed.

“I suppose so. And ye know, I rather like this affectionate side of ye. Yer like a fluffy cat.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, cheeks a dark red, more fondness to the words than heat as she cuddled back into his side, though she didn’t deny the remark.

Scrooge grinned, kissing the top of her head, glad the atmosphere had lightened.

“We’re idiots aren’t we?” he asked. “For needing ta save each other’s life before we could admit how we feel.”

“I prefer the term ‘blissfully ignorant’,” she replied, fighting a smile and failing. She pushed herself up to look him in the eyes. Her own had darkened slightly, and the sight caused him to sober. “I believe a certain gentleman owes me a kiss.”

Grinning, he pulled her to him, kissing her senseless.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it isn’t that simple to stop having dark thoughts and depressive episodes. I know from personal experience and many doctor visits. But in DT17, he does the same thing. Once the boys are in his life he just flips a switch and locks those feelings away, until LCOTSC and the beginning of Shadow War, where they all come tumbling back out and he’s a wreck. He isn’t as much of a wreck here because well, he has a job to do, and focusing on that helps, until he’s surrounded by all her stuff and then he lets himself partially fall apart. 
> 
> Main point being: this is not realistic in how to manage severe depression and grief. It is not healthy or entirely possible IRL


End file.
